I woke up because of the call of my grandmother who came to watch and visit the Panagbenga Festival in Baguio. As my sight adjusted to the darkness of my boarding room, I grabbed my phone and tiredly but enthusiastically answered.

“Hi ma! Are you in Victory Liner already?” I asked as I stretched my hands and yawned in silence.

It’s redundant to say ‘atm machine’ because the ‘m’ in atm means machine, ma. “Ok po.” I answered and quietly put on my slippers and my maroon racoon jacket as to not disturb my two snoring roomates.

I called my grandmother a week before and told her I had a problem. I’m thinking about going churchless. Being an atheist turned Christian opened my heart and mind to many things that the churches I attend to does not understand.

I hurried down the entrance from Microtel and instantly spotted my grandmother. It wasn’t hard. All I had to do was search for a lady who was dressed in a T-shirt and a long skirt that could cover my study table and a hair longer than that. My grandmother was braiding her Rapunzel hair when she caught sight of me, she instantly smiled, and hugged me.

“The last time I was here was when Mt. Pinatubo exploded! My, how everything changes.” My grandmother recounted ” Just give me a minute to braid my hair.” she pardoned.

“Why don’t you just cut your hair ma?” I asked looking at her insane length of hair.

My grandmother tenderly smiled at me “You know about 1 Corinthians 11:15. God is pleased when a woman has long hair, its her covering and glory.”

“Will God get mad if you cut it though?” I smirked and grandma just sheepishly looked at me and understood how my mind works.

I am sure that my God looks at more than a woman’s hair to see her glory.

While walking back to my dorm, as the starry night entertained my grandmother I started to talk.

“It may not be expressed in my face but I am truly happy, mama.” And I meant it.

I wore the same raccoon jacket, my favorite jacket from my closet, tribal-patterned sweater and jeans. I was happy to see the excitement on my grandmother’s face as she stepped upon the bricked sidewalk of Session Road after more than two decades. People were flocking from every corner of Session, some even set-up tents and we were told they camped out there since the previous night to get the first dib at the grandeur sight of the parade. Fortunately, my grandmother’s people- person personality never faded away and she talked young couples away to give us a nice comfortable seat. We waited for three hours. During that time, I put my earphones on and listened to Sigur Ros’ instrumental song called ‘Hoppipolla’ meaning ‘Jumping in Puddles’ I was a sucker for instrumentals and how they amplify ‘feels’ and the sight of people laughing, of children running around, of the police men joking to eachother really was a sight. I could not explain through words what I mean by ‘feels’ but its a feeling of unexplainable satisfaction of living. And listening to Hoppipolla while watching the sight made me feel ‘more’. I gave the other half of the earphones to grandma and we watched hapilly as the sky above us turned from a starry midnight blue to an amazing sunrise yellow cascading into shades of blue as it herald the coming of morning. Oh, it was truly a sight. There was a baby beside us who was laughing at the faces his mother was making.

I smiled as I watched the baby and remembered something. “I once read somewhere ma,” I began “the reason why we smile when we see a baby.” Me and my grandma giggled as the baby burped milk “Why?” grandma asked “People spend their entire lives building up defensive layers around themselves, layers they call reputation, image, dignity, success,” I smiled as the song reached its most uplifting part and the baby stared at us again. “That’s the reason po why we smile when see a baby, because we see someone without those defensive layers and just that authentic human spirit inside.”

10: 12 am

My grandmother is a member of the most , at least in my mind, conservatist and traditionalist Christian denomination: ADD. Headed by their two ‘Pangkalahatang Nangangasiwa” Bro Guy at Bro Man who they watch on two flat screen televisions that hanged at both sides of the room. Inside, you aren’t allowed to wear your foot garments because the church is a holy ground. Inside, is a scary view of people that shouts, again in my mind, it is a criminal to be an individual. Let me define what a ‘girl’ is in their context: A human being burried in a suffocating clothing of garments, whose skin is forbidden to be touched by any cosmetic products, whose hair should be longer than Rapunzel’s. Now the men: beings of impractical jokes, cannot wear tight Ts and pants, should be authoritative, should always short hair, no beard, and should look uptight. This was my grandmother’s church.

“Goodmorning brother and sister.” a lady at the welcoming table greeted.

O yeah, your name here is either brother or sister. No other gender identification.

I noticed as the lady whisphered something to grandma and she was glimpsing at me. That’s so rude. My grandmother turned to me and looked at my cap. I sighed in frustration but understood. I took off my cap. As I sighed, I did not only let go of my breath but of my opinions and ideas. Somehow I understood that beneath all those traditions lies their desire to love and serve God.

Tagalog praises and hymns were playing on the televisions as everyone waited for the time to pray. And when it did, everyone stood up, found east and knelt down in prayer like the Muslims. Now, this is one of the things I took away from this denomination. I felt that it’s a sign of humility, ultimate humility, to kneel down in prayer which in itself is already an act of humility The message for that day was obedience. And I understood that when you fall in love with God, the laws and commandments are not labelled as such in ones mind , that when you love God, you learn to love what he loves and that obeying is not an obligation that , for this people, they don’t see these laws as something burdening but an act to follow because they love God. I understood. But still, when I see the young children being told what to wear or how to sit or be lectured about what is ‘proper’ , I frown. And I wondered, do I have a problem of disobedience?

12:15 pm

I took grandmother to my favorite bookshop in all of existence: Bookends

Stepping inside the place instantly takes you into a mixed feeling of olden days and fantasy. Accompanying the books were hundreds of different antiques ranging from miniscule candleholders, to statues and paintings, it was a sight for the heart.

“This is where I go to when I feel alone.” I told my grandmother and I explained to her how I’ve come to uderstand God beyond how most people understood Him. How I understand all the denominations and where they’re coming from and that when I open up this things to other believers, they look at me with a stern face. “Ma, it’s like the way I understand God is very different from the way people view Him.” I started as my hands scanned through the classical cannon literature.

“I understand things.” I grabbed Alice in Wonderland and sheepishly scanned through it. “Like for example, I attend many denominations depending on the location I am and the time I have doing so has opened my mind that everyone of this religion loves God but is in an endless battle of whose right and whose making things up but for me, I take in the parts that I see would help me in my walk with Christ. In Born Again and Baptist being there that I really understood the Cross, I learned that the equation to salvation is only faith in Jesus plus nothing else that would result in goodworks that is why it’s so hard for me to stand Ang Dating Daan because you live your lives unassured about where you’re going after you die, but what I took from you guys is that obeying God’s commandments means doing it as a response to what Jesus did on the cross and not see it as burdens. Another thing that I value about your church is that people try their best to be citizens of heaven but I cannot accept that the women are so choked up in the wrong way by ideals of the church I know God does not order. I’m a feminist and I believe Christian women should be given the right on how to live their walk with God.” I noticed that the gay shopkeepers were whispering to one another and sat on s beautifullly carved wooden dear head with grandma. She looked at me in the eyes toughtfully but did not say anything, I held my cross pendant. “This, was given to me by my bestfriend Noah. And hes agnostic.” I smiled ” I think that one of the most misinterpreted verse in the Bible is the one saying that a believer should have no business with an unbeliever but Noah has tought me so much and , ironically, is my greatest encourager everytime my faith is failing. And then there’s the LGBTQ+ community that the church encourages to pray to Jesus to make them straight; and though most churches are against discrimanation, they cannot accept them as whole and miss the point that their gender are not a choice, its what God made them to be. So if the church are against discrimanation and say that Jesus accepts them, then they should also allow same sex marriage and the likes.” I can feel the urge of ideas and unspoken thoughts finally being brought to light and it made my heart beat. “Living here in Baguio exposed me to different cultures and traditions frowned upon on and changed by some missionary churches. See, I think God inroduces himself through different forms; it maybe through art, music, a society’s culture and tradition, and changing it is cruel and deregatory. I understand what Christ meant that He is the only way but what if that only way manifests itself in different forms? And then there’s this messed up usage of the verse ‘obey your authority’ that Manny Pacquaio loosely uses to justify his support with the reimposition of the death penalty and his defence against the criticism of extra judicial executions. It was true and it is written: ‘Obey your authorities, even the bad ones but remember that the highest autority is God.’ I reminded myself to hush down a little. ” Heres my point about obeying your autorities: Noah shouldve obeyed his authority then and did not do the ark, Moses shouldve obeyed his authority then and did not fight for Israel’s freedom and forever be the Egyptians’ slaves, Mary and Joseph shouldve obeyed Herod’s order then and gave up baby Jesus when he ordered the killings of all the first born male child two millenia ago. That’s my point. And about death penalty, I am so against it because it offends the very core of Christianity: that Jesus took our death penalty so that no one would ever have to experience it ever again.” A tear rolled down my right cheek. “Mama, everytime I try to share these thoughts with my ‘fellow’ believers, they reprimand me and shut me off. Last week I was showing my quiet time journal to a pastor in a baptist church I’m attending to and he took it and said that it my stands are unbiblical and wrong– that was my favorite possession cause I draw there, I write poems…” I started sobbing as I remembered that I do not have my journal anymore. “Mama, I feel so out of place in the church.” Usually, a Christian feels out of place in the world. “I feel like God is mad at me with the way I’m treated. That is why I just call myself a Christian and not a Born Again, Baptist, or whatever. I’m simply just Christian. That’s my human core.”

“Arvee,” my grandmother said wiping the tears in my eyes ” Do not be afraid to speak against the church if you have to. Against the government if you have to. Against principalities if you have to. You’re a believer ahead of your time. Do not be afraid.”

1:28 pm

Grandmother made sure that I know that I’m not alone with my beliefs and to further comfort me, we bought a new journal in an arts and craft stall in Session in Bloom and that uplifted my spirits. “Ma I think I’m going churchless. A churchless Christian.” I said smiling as I held my grandmother’s hand. “Church is not the strcture but the people anyway. And in that sense, you are part of my church, my agnostic bestfriend is part of my church, my Muslim adviser, my Jehova’s Witness roomate, and eventually anyone who helps me in my walk with God.” My grandmother chuckled and smiled ” I am proud of you.”

Our smiles slightly diminished as we saw one of grandmother’s churchmate who pointed at the Cross necklace that I am wearing. “Good afternoon brother and sis.” the old man smiled looking at my necklace. “Sis,” he told my grandmother “Why is your grandson wearing a Cross necklace? Anyway I know you’ll remind him that its unbiblical.” And with that he left. Me and my grandmother met gazed and she smiled.

The Feels
Once there was an old man named Tom David Jack and he had no one left alive except his Calachuchi bonsai.

It was given to him by his mother when he was only thirteen years old after he told his mom he had no friends in school because he was ugly and boring according to his classmates and some relative.

It was a pleasant moment when his mom went to his room carrying a small tree that sprung an exact amount of four miniscule yellow flower that smelled like a candy from Heaven! It had one thick trunk that elongates upward and spring unto four beautiful branches. Ever since then, the plant remained Tom’s companion throughout his life.

On his prom day, the Calachuchi provided enough flowers that Tom made into a boquet for his date only to pick her up and see she went with another boy. It broke his heart.

And he never really had any relationship ever since. He grew up in a publishing company as a finance manager, unmarried, never had a pet, during Sunday mornings he would go to the church then spend a couple of hours with his bonsai friend on a bench that oversaw the wonderfully painted open-sky.

It was truly just him and the bonsai plant.
After some time, at the great age of seventy years old, Tom found out one of life’s secrets: joy is found in the most little of things. There is great pleasure, if one is willing to admit, in morning walks, stargazing, a cup of coffee accompanied by a good book, going to the park and watching people smile and chuckle, giggle and smirk, and all other forms laughter manifest into. And mind you, lonely is just an illusion created by people to comfort eachother during dark times.
Tom, now a days called as Old Mr. Tom, lives in a quiet neighborhood in his small house that has a spectacular circular window perfect for someone who seeks to welcome the day’s last beams of sunshine. Tom would always make sure that at exactly 5:45 pm he would be sitted in his comfortable rocking chair, facing the window, with his Calachuchi on his lap, marveling at how the sun is able to die every night and give life the very next day to all of creation. What a wonderful thing to see ,by where he was sitted how the sky, starting at the horizon, the sky swirl into pink, then red, the gold, then blue, and the the stars would start to peek through the night sky.
But on a rainy Friday morning, Tom’s only companion, his bonsai started to cough and loose its leaves. Tom got worried. Living with it for his entire life, Tom knows that his little friend only shed its leaves every 25th of August. And it was only February–spring! He gave it one day to pass hoping that , just like himself, his little friend is only experiencing the thrill of old age. The next day, it started to turn yellow and bend down. Tom hurried and scanned through his phone book looking for a plant doctor.
Gardeners after gardeners, botanist after botanist, Tom went to all the places that could help his only companion, but none of them was able to tell what was wrong with his friend. And when all hope was lost, a young lad who called himself Jerry knocked at his door and offered his help. He was a plantoctor he said with a certified degree of Floral and Founa Doctorate degree. Full of hope, Tom let the plant doctor in and gave him his plant.

The plantoctor did every first medical check-up a doctor would do on a human patient, he even brought a miniscule x-ray machine for plants. For a length of one hour, Jerry called Old Tom to the living room to give him the results.
His plant was diagnosed with root cancer afting the plant’s cuticle layer production and phothosynthetic function, a result of being planted on a red pot all of its life.
“Two days left…” was perhaps the saddest thing Old Tom ever heard. Here he was, looking at the only living thing who was ever there all throughput his life, and it was dying. It was going to leave him soon to.
With a soft nod, Tom said goodbye to the plantoctor and spent the night crying infront of his plant. He noticed that his plant had four of its flowers still in bloom but its slightly bended down formation suggest that those, too, are about to fade.At a point, Old Tom removed his glasses, sat on his rocking chair and hugged his friend, his tears falling down the plant’s brown earth.
The next day, the plant’s last day, Old Tom woke up at exactly the crack of dawn to give his plant the best last day. He decided to give its four flowers to four people to make them happy, even just for a slight moment, it was the best thing he could do for his plant, to share the joy he experienced from it with other peoplpe.
But before starting the day, Old Tom went to the park and was permitted, loved and known he was, to start digging up a nice hole where he would plant his little friend later at the end of its life.
After digging up the ground, Old Tom saw the first person who deserves the first flower: a little crying girl who was not pick to play by her mates. Old Tom went towards her and gave her the flower. “You know,” Tom started showing the girl his plant on a pot ” sometimes, and the best of times, when the world is busy picking flowers, they forget that the best part of a plant are actually the leaves. They may not smell fragrant or look beautiful, but they really are the most helpful.”

The little girl looked at him confusedly “Then why do’nt they get picked?”

Old Tom smiled. “Because most people are blind.” and the two of them giggled and Old Tom gave her a flower–and a leaf.
The next person was the librarian at the village’s quiet bookshop, Ms Noles, who could seem really irratable at most times. Old Tom entered quietly, placed the flower on the librarian’s desk and said ” Ms. Noles you are the most beautiful and the most irratable woman I know. And you are truly a gem in our little village!” And with that, knowing for sure Ms.Noles smiled, he left.
The third person was a young boy he saw thrown out of their place’s conveniet store for being caught stealing a couple of M&Ms. Old Tom felt for the boy who could do a great deal of wonderful things if only someone told him. The boy saw Old Tom walking towards him and smirked defensively “What’ya looking at, old man?”

Tom raised his hand and smiled “Please, I only want to give you something.”

“What for?” The boy asked

“Just to show you that there things, the best things in life, are for free.”

“Like?!”

“Like frendship.” Old Tom offered him the third flower “Tell you what, If you’re free every Sunday afternoon, after church, you coud come to my place and eat all the chocolates you want.”

“For real!” The boy exclaimed

Old Tom chuckled “Yah, I could use a friend anyway.”
The last person was the plantoctor he searched for. He just said a simple “Thank you.” And Jerry understood that there was no need for any other words. It was fine.
After all that, for the last time, Old Tom went home with his plant.
He arranged all the chocolates he could find and needed twelve boxes to contain it all. And labeled it for the boy. After the work, at exactly 5:45, Old Tom sat on his chair with the plant and watched their last sunset together. “Good bye.” Old Tom tearfully said.
Old Tom watched as the sun descended in the horizon releasing a beam of red, he thought about finally planting his friend in a nice spacious ground it deserves, the sky was now pink, then blue, Old Tom started to get tired, the sky turned midnight blue and the last thing he saw was stars peeking through the sky greeting him. Old Tom died that night right after sunset. Died a peaceful and happy man beside a friend.
The townspeople buried Old Tom in the ground he dug up supposedly for his plant. His house was given to the village library, forever to be aprreciated by all manners of folk young and old, the little boy recieved his twelve box of chocolates, and Jerry the plantoctor planted the Calachuchi on top of Old Tom’s grave.
“Here lies Old Tom David Jack with his beloved little plant who both stared at the sunset everyday.”
And surprisingly, for years, the Calachuchi sprung into a marvelous tall Calachuchi Tree giving shelter to small animals, shadow for resting children all while , at exactly 5:45 in the afternoon, it was tall enough too see the sunset.
For many years it bloomed.

I am Grace and this is what I wanted to tell you all this time.
You may not know me that well and I have no excuse why time prolonged our meeting and right now, I may not be what you need.I don’t even know how to begin or where to start…start, yes, lets us begin at the start.

I was there when you were born but you did not need me then because all of what you do, you do out of innocence then , but I looked out for you whenever you were to trip or fall uknowingly. And like all seeds, you sprung and you grew and met the world. I understand that there are times you found satisfaction with the world than you ever did with me and how can I blame you, I am rules, decrees, and orders right? If that is what you think of me I will not blame you. But I do want you to know one thing: you have never and will never loose me.

No matter how many times you let go of the cross, I hope you know that if you call on me, my help will never expire and I will come as fast as I can. If I have to carry your burdens just to prove that I am for you and not against you and by your side I know you won’t shy away– I am never forsaken.

You may have heard that Grace saves everyone. That I am amazing, a beautiful sound, that I rescue but I want you to know, and I think you deserve to know : that you have saved me in ways you do not know, my child.

I am covered by your love in searching for your love, forever ,I’ll be found in you , my child. It is through you that I can do all things and do what I am able to do. I was able to calm the seas because you reminded me that I have somebody to die for. You were the word at the beginning, the very first thing in my mind when I needed reason to defeat the grave. Oh my child, my child, oh, what a beautiful name you have. I am sorry.

I am sorry if, for you, I am too late.

Before I end please know that I’ll always silence the shout of sin and grave just to hear you sing again. In my heart, you have no equal and you have no rival and forever I’ll sing of you. Yours is my kingdom and yours is the name of names. Nothing will ever change that though mountains crumble and stars darken i will be here time-infinite. And please forgive me in advance , if you accept me again, that I’ll be running towards you crying my eyes out and of the hug I’ll give you that day.

She was already yelling ” No not electric blue, not ocean blue, not sky blue, just…normal blue.” Sofra was to learn that day that salesladies have no idea what ‘normal blue’ is unfortunately so she spent almost a a ridiculous amount of thirty minutes at the azure section of hair products.

Sofra felt the excitement of trying out new things ever since she retired from the corporate world six months ago. It is only now that she spent an amount of bliss, without the guilt of having responsibilities , and time for herself.

“Are you sure about dyeing your hair blue, ma’am?” the saleslady had asked with clear uncertainty in her face that Sofra, headstrong she is, did not like.

“Yes. I am quite sure, dear.” Oh how restraint of tone did Sofra did to sound kind but she wanted to yell at the girl.

“But you’re like sixty years old.”

Oh no she did not. She did not just say that. Oh

“Yes, darling” she looked at the lady’s name tag “Eula how old are you?”

The saleslady have realized her mistake for going beyond her job’s call

“Twenty-two, ma’am.”

Sofra smiled her most intimidating smile, started to look around again , and blinked “You see, when I was your age I was in an on-the-job-training in Paris for a fashion industry as a cosmetic entrepreneur and not” she turned to look at Sofra straight at her soul “covered in thick foundation trying to cover up my irritating big mouth and working in some poor local beauty shop.”

Some of the other customers and saleslady were looking at them already but Sofra managed to still walk with a kind smile, grabbed a cerulean blue hair color and paid at the counter.

She thought about her life once she was alone in her Beatle safe from the toxic social world outside. I love my life. And she did. What was more important was that she was also content. She has silenced everyone who has ever told her that she needed a husband and a family of her own to enjoy life to the fullest. She has survived sixty long years without ever having both of those. She has a nice country house, pention every month provided by her former office. Ever since then, she has devoted her time glamoring her garden– with much confusion wether she’d do it at the crack of dawn when no one is awake or at midnight when ,also, no one is awake ; why? She hated contributing to gender stereotype and an old lady planting flowers won’t actually help in that. The so-called Millenial Era has sparked interest in Sofra more than anything else though! Don’t get her wrong, highly educated and wealthy she might be , Sofra knows what an app and Wi-Fi is. What she’s trying to understand are the modern day ideologies and beliefs everyone is so chattering about. The world has gotten more sensitive than ever Sofra would think everytime she would see the news on the television. All in all, she was a happy woman.

She was a careful but fast driver and just about fifteen minutes, she arrived at her house. The sky was already a mixture of gold and pink announcing the slumber of the sun. She opened her car and got out only to step upon the most gruesome thing for anybody to step on, dog dung.

Sofra yelped “Goodness!” To add to the sad situation, she was wearing her favourite Stilletos.

“Oh, sorry lady,” said a deep voice.

Sofra turned and saw an old man wearing a plain white polo and an irritating bright Hawaiian shorts. He still have full set of curly hair , though it was gray already, a very tall guy, dark eyes, a surprising physique, and a mustache that was as long as his curls. Sofra immediately saw who to blame. The man was holding a leash for a poodle. The man hurried to her, got some wipes from his pocket and a plastic and bent down to clean the dung.

“And you really waited for me to arrive before you clean up your canine’s excretion?!” Sofra exclaimed getting her own wipes from her bag

The man chuckled”Canine’s excretion? You seem to fancy words.”

“I fancy being clean!” Sofra shot back.

The old man swiped the last spot of canine excretion and sprayed alcohol on it.

“Beauty here and I are new in the neighborhood, she’s not really like this, I think she’s undergoing some biological seperation anxiety from our past home.”

It was Sofra’s turn to laugh. “Biological seperation anxiety. And it really chose my front yard to this as …demonstration of such unheard of natural phenomena?”

“Really sorry. Truly.” The man said frankly.

Sofra looked at the white poodle and its owner one last time and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t even bother passing by here.”

“I’m David, by the way!” The old man shouted.

Sofra ignored.

“It was nice meeti–” She quickly shut the door.

She took a deep breath, removed her heels and went to change.

She spent the next hours talking to her former assistant Annie who is twenty-nine years old on how to begin dyeing her hair.

“Sofra, there’s an instruction inside it.” Annie giggled.

“Have you forgotten what I tought you? Never trust instructions coming from the company that made what you bought!”

“Well then, atleast read the part where it says if it needs water or not”

“It doesn’t need.”

“That’s good, it’ll make our lives easier. Just por it in a container, using a paint brush or the like dubb it in your hair by section. Give it one hour to stay then go take a bath.”

“Alright, dear. Thank you very much.”

“Are you sure with the color though?”

“Yes I am dear. Now you go have dinner and send my greetings to John and the kids.”

They both hang up.

Sofra slept with a lustrous blue hair that night.

Bang bang bang! Sofra jolted out of her bed. Someone was knocking at the door. She grabbed her glasses by the bedside table and turned to see that it was 4:30 am. That was early even for her age. She usually wakes up at 5 in the morning. So this pissed her off. She opened the door to see David carrying a tray of cookies that were still steaming hot. It smelled crumcious Sofra won’t deny that.

“You again! What are you doimg here banging on the door like a psycho!” Sofra blurted.

“The blue hair suits you.” David said eyes clearly amazed by her hair.

Sofra tried not to smile.

“Consider this as a peace-offering for what Beauty did yesterday.”

“I’m sixty years old for crying out loud, you’re going to give me diabetes with those cookies!” Sofra said wishing he would go away.

“I’m seventy-one.” David said quiet calmly “And I have one of these everyday. I can assure you, this is not diabetic. Plus I use coco sugar.”

Sofra did feel hungry and David seems like a good man. “Do you want to come in?”

David’s face suddenly stretched into a smile and nodded.

“Is anybody home?” David asked as Sofra lead her to her pink sofa.

“No. I live by myself.” Sofra said as she took a sit on a stool infront of the sofa.

“I see.” David nodded respectfully and placed the cookie tray on the bamboo coffee table. “Please, grab some.” David insisted.

Sofra took one and oh! How the chocolate melts in her mouth!

David chuckled “I guess I did it right then.”

“What gives it away?”

“Your expression.” David smiled.

Sofra has the tendency to close her eyes to feel things. Especially when eating.

“Oh, how embarrassing.” Sofra said brushing off the crumbs from her lap. “They’re delicious!”

“Thank you.”

And there, at a warm living room, lighted by the sun’s golden beams coming from the window, were two old souls enjoying the warmth of a beautiful talk.

Sofra and David, unexpectedly, talked for hours! Like young spirits not running out of things to say.

“I’ve worked for the army my entire life,” David had said “Never really had the chance to marry or start a family because I only come home for an average of 34 days a year. So it’s kinda sad.” David coughed mildly and smiled “How about you?”

“Let’s just say no man succeded in pinning me down.” Sofra smiled. “I’m the only child of my parents and they’re gone now. So basically-”

“It’s just you?” David completed

And there was sadness to that… fact. Not even with Sofra’s optimism about it. Feeling alone was not the sad thing. It was feeling lonely.

“Me too.” David said.

“Oh look at us!” Sofra laughed “Two old people born from the 40s and 50s but living in 2017 talk about feeling old!”

They both laughed throatily.

“To be honest you don’t look like 60”

“What do I look like then?” Sofra asked wiping off a tear of joy from the corner of her eye.

“40 or 47” And they bursted out laughing.

For the next hour , David and Sofra decided to create, with much debate, a Facebook account.

Mind you, they had to ask help from the pizza delivery guy when he stopped by to give them their Cheeze Overload

“I’m guessing both of your civil status is single?”

“What?! No!” Both of them bellowed.

“Oh, you two aren’t married?” The pizza guy asked smiling.

“Could you just finish our account?” David said.

And he did. After two hours.

Then, they started to search for friends

“Those that are still alive.” David had said and they laughed hard.

By 8:00 in the evening, the two had forgotten about dinner and David asked if they could just eat outside. And Sofra agreed.

She dressed in her favorite floral dress and white knitted blazer and a county hat she had designed with ribbons and leaves. David too dressed quickly in his house.

Beauty stared as her master nervously scanned through his closet throwing hanged clothes one after another until finally he found it: a plain white polo and a navy blue sweater and a brown knaki pants.

“Do I look good?” He asked his dog and Beauty barked in response.

They found a restaurant of class in town that specializes in Japanese cuisines and there they settled. All the while David did not take off his eyes from Sofra and before they entered, David stopped.

“Can I just say something wonderful?” He smiled.

Sofra smiled and nodded

“You have the most beautiful wrinkle below those twinkling eyes.” He joked.

Sofra slapped his arm and chuckled. “Why, thank you!”

“I just figured–and I know this is a sudden idea– and I never really asked this..” David started to get jittery and sweaty.

Sofra just looked at him and smiled not minding the young couples coming in and out of the restaurant.

“If ,you know, i just would like to ask you if you’d like” he looked down and smiled then chuckled “to go on a date with me right now, right here.” David smiled “And I know we’re old.

Sofra’s smile weakened. “David…”

“Please say yes.”

“They say it’s never too late for love.” Sofra said and her smile reappered. “So I guess it’s time to see.”

“So it’s a yes then?” David said hia wrinkled face suddenly stretching into a grin.

Sofra nodded.

The celestial sky, the city lights, the young people eating, the music in the air, and time were all witnesses on how , at the age of sixty and seventy, when the world said life is ripe and is ready to fade, life began for the two old people who entered through the glass door.

Only the mechanic humming of the fan pierced through this starry night. My only companion amidst the fear that is besieging my consciousness. I tried to focus on forcing my eyes to close and drift on to slumber but, as if wanting to torment me, it continued to scan through my dark room in search of materializing my thoughts. I took record of the windos beside me showing the grim grove of acasias blanketed by midnight mist, I imagine a dark humane figure at its entrance smiling at me– I closed my eyes. My gaze turned to the ceiling and the shadow painted on it started to morph into a feminine figure as it obeyed my stubborn imagination I pulled my pillow and covered my eyes. But ofcourse, your being will always betray you– I slowly peeked again and was face to face with the lump below my blanket, I quickly kicked off the blanket and jump out of bed in fear of having a ghoul in it. I saw the door of the bathroom ajar and my thoughts intensifies.

The devil slithering : Satan flying

Murderous hands ripping the wooden floor, my skin rubbed by the fiery cold of a sharp metal; Alice was beheaded.

There, at the center of the room, facing the bed was horror. I saw it, walking closely, its every step synchrobized with mine. I shook my head and beads of sweat started to slide down my forhead.

I took my pillow: it took its sheild

I quickly took my bat lying below my bed: it dashed below its bed and took its sword

“You”: “I”

What horror it is, that throughout one’s life the only face you do not see is that of yourself’s.

And that out there, someone holds that very face– one’s face.

I did’nt hesitate and I shatteted the mirror infront of me, shards of broken glass soaring off everywhere like shooting stars tearing through the sky. I let go of my bat and fell on my knees and panted.

I looked at myself on the glass, those cursed things forever to show reality but never owning it for itself.

Brunette. Black eyes. Mole on the left cheek. Enough.

I pushed it away and stood up.

I knew who I am. Of course one knows who he is. Clearly but confused. You could know yourself but not see yourself.

This is the most important bottle that I have. For the simple reason that , in it, are the greatest treasures of friendship from the greatest guy I know. I met my best friend at the right time, when God answered my prayer to have a great friend in college. I was scared and knew so little about life. But more than a best friend this dude became a brother and helped shape how I understand things. This dude became a helper in times of desperate and hillarious situations. A listener in the days my heart skipped a beat in meeting a girl for the first time. But most importantly, he’s a brother not connected to me by blood but by choice, spirit, and everything that makes us fucking awesome.
Inside, are the things he has given me: From our friendship utensil, bubblegum wrapper plane, the strap of the umbrella he gave , his first letter to me, and more. Around it are our friendship bracelet, the string he used to wrap my present with, and finally closed with a Sunflower the day I told him I was in love and confused at the same time. And the wand we use when making unbreakable vows.
“I see how much you need him and how much he needs you.” My mother once said about our brotherhood.
This guy’s gonna be the best man in my wedding, an uncle to my children, a partner in crime, and a brother. Always.

And at the short life I think I have, I have started to keep these little moments so that one day, with this bottle, I could show how much he has given me and how much of a great person he is.

… it is not accepted to start your paper– or anything for that matter– with an ellipses. But I want to be honest with my writing. I have never typed in my keyboard knowing what the first letter my finger would right away click. I have never took my pen and wrote down a starting phrase right away.
6:30 pm

……
7: 30 pm

Maybe if I could grab some biscuits and a glass of coffee I could fnally have the functionality I desire to make the paper.
8:30 pm

The church bells start to sing their stabbing screech. This is it. I closed my eyes and see dark and the tinge of redness that supposed to be my reminder that there’s still the blood of life inside me. I opened my eyes just in time to see the great oak doors split by a beam of blinding light. The two doors, to my horror and my expectation, swung open revealing its long blood-red tounge leading towards the perfumed monsters. With both of my sides blocked by the force of sacrifice, leaving only the aisle as the available direction, I started to walk. I took a step on that bloodthirsty tounge and wondered how many women liked me had this tounge licked to death? How many women did it forced towards the false fantasy of the monsters waiting at the end of its tounge? As I stepped closer and closer towards the masked men, my eyes shifted to the crowds beside me. All of them dressed in black and white as if it could divert a stranger’s gaze from their empty souless eyes. Hypocrites. Even the ones I share blood with. No one was trying to stop me. No one noticed. Behind me was no comfort as well. Little girls that are bound to become woman throws petals along the blood-stained linen we walk upon on believing that this is a fairytale in the making, I fear for them. I fear that one day their dreams would betray them and that thy too shall walk upon this wretched aisle as I am now. With the last final steps, I try to forget. I try to forget the little girl who dreamed of a happy life, of the girl who promised to find the right one, the girl who fell in love with a guy, try to forget the girl who said yes, try to forget the girl who naively got bossed around

I stopped.

The devil smiled at me.

The fallen angel opens the book.

The Judases held the ring.

Hades smiles.

Death waits.

I closed my eyes.

Life tears.

Peter Pan grew up.

Alice woke up.

An Immortal died.

“And do you accept this guy as your lawfully wedded husband?”

Tears roll back.

The woman is dead.

A Phoenix froze.

I forgot who I am. And at that point, when I was sure I have let go of myself– I answered.

​SADLY HAPPY
Under the cascade of red and gold and orange, she ran. Step upon step, the crispness of fall crunched underfoot. She glanced back. She could still hear the voices echoing in her head. But to her, the words were empty and meaningless. All she knew that moment was she needed to see the Queen Faerie, and the Mad Hatter, and the Faun.
She had met them about a year ago, when she had managed to escape the flying saucers back home, running out the backdoor into the scorch of summer air. The little girl felt she had been confined in the four walls of her pink bedroom for too long. She wanted out. And so she sneaked past the dining room, where the flying saucers danced across in succession, and into the kitchen where the backdoor had fortunately been left open.
Running into the shade of the woods, she felt sweat trickle down her temple and drip upon her back. Her skin was sticky and filthy; but as her heart pounded strange rhythms within her little chest, she knew she was freer than she had ever been.
Her steps halted when her eyes caught sight of it. In the heart of the forest stood a hollow oak tree. Even before autumn had come, the tree held no leaves, its bark dry and rough. Dead, that was how the grown-ups would put it. But she knew that inside there was life. This was where they had met, and this was where she was to meet them, every afternoon when the clock on the kitchen wall pointed to three.
She crawled into the hole at the bottom, amidst the tangle of roots, her bare knees scraped by the rough ground for the millionth time, the tulle of her white dress stained by the dirt. But she didn’t care: her friends were on the other side waiting for her, and that’s all that mattered.
Light flashed across her eyes, blinding her for a few seconds. Here she was, she knew, and a rare smile crept upon her face as she felt the pretty butterfly wings spread behind her.
“And so you’ve arrived,” said the gentlest of voices — the Queen Faerie.
“Ooh, and be careful with your wings, dear,” said the Faun. “We wouldn’t want them scratched, would we?”
She laughed.
The little girl’s eyes fell upon the sunlit hall and the stained glass windows surrounding them. Scanning the long table before her, she made out the cakes and the berries and the porcelain that filled the long slab of wood.
“Don’t just stand there,” scolded the Mad Hatter, playfully. “Sit yourself down. Have some tea.”
The little girl obeyed.
And so they ate, and they drank, and they played and talked. Her smile never faded as they flew and ran round the hall.
This, to her, was family. This was home.
But nothing so pleasant can last forever. Before the dark clothed the sky, she had to go. At half past five, they waved her good-bye.
The little girl crawled back into the hole, down the tunnel, out into the cool autumn air. Then she ran.
When her eyes caught sight of the old small house, the sun had already faded, and a handful of stars flickered amidst the black sky. Strangely, it was silent. She wasn’t used to this.
The door burst open, and the silhouette of a man stalked towards her. Despite the dark, she recognized him as her father. Her mother . . . Where was she?
She had taken her time still on the spot, and he had come close enough, his eyes wild and terrifying, his hands stained red. He waved a thick black wand; the girl took a step back.
Everything else, but the rapid beats of her heart, felt still.
There came the pull, an ear-splitting noise. Gravity took its pull, forcing her onto a mattress of cool dry leaves. The same kind of red on his hands dripped a thick flow from her nose. Somewhere near her chest, she felt a sting and a burn. There flowed the same hue.
Her head tilted to the left. She blinked, and a smile crept to her lips. The Queen Faerie stood before her, the Mad Hatter and the Faun by her side. The Faerie knelt upon the ground and reached out a hand. With what little strength she had left, the girl feebly took it.
“It’s time. Let’s go home.”